Somewhere a thousand Native Americans are rolling over in their graves at the sight of this picture. Or their spirits are dancing in the sky. Whatever. Either way, they're pissed.
The year was 1988 and my family was on a Griswold-esque road trip to Disney World. We stopped here and there at every tourist trap that could lure us off of I-95. At one of these stops, my parents paid cash money for me to dress up as an authentic American Indian and pose with what was clearly, Sitting Bull himself. I don't think the miserable look on his face was an act, a visual representation of the plight of the American Indian. I'm pretty sure he just wasn't thrilled with his career choice, posing with entitled children and probably drunken sorority girls every now and then. Maybe he wasn't even Indian at all, he might have been Puerto Rican for all we knew. But it didn't matter. Eight year old Shannon wanted her face painted and her head-dressed. And that's what she got.
Our trip to Florida was pretty much the highlight of my childhood. I have so many memories of that trip, from the fire alarms going off in the middle of the night at our hotel to the plate of spaghetti I spilled on my new pink shirt and the giant stain I had to walk around Disney with to the giant fly swatter my brother picked out at South of the Border. Good times. Seriously good times.
Thanks for bearing me with the unintended blog silence this week. I had an energy-sucking virus that eliminated any and all motivation. But it just means I've got lots to share next week. So have an awesome weekend. And I'll see you back round here next week for DIY Dreamcatchers.
Princess Shannon Shooting Star